


And The Walls Kept Tumbling Down (In The City That We Love)

by imsorrydidijuststutter, MakerOfAnarchy



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Depression, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 04:28:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imsorrydidijuststutter/pseuds/imsorrydidijuststutter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MakerOfAnarchy/pseuds/MakerOfAnarchy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris Colfer is a writer that has eighteen pills in a bottle on his fridge and a boy that works at a grocery store</p><p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	And The Walls Kept Tumbling Down (In The City That We Love)

**Author's Note:**

> (The majority of the story is rated mature but there is a part that's nc-17 and should be avoided if not comfortable with)

On his fridge at home, Chris has a bottle of pills.

They’re about a month old, never used because about after the first two he was having hot flashes and toilets filled with meal after meal.

There’s about 18 left, “Remember two a day for 10 days and your cough should be gone!” and 18 should be enough to do the job.

Right?

He gives himself 12 months, a good year to get himself truly settled in and find himself a place. And if he still feels this way after all that time, well, you know what comes next.

—

The first two months are like torture.

He comes home from interviews discouraged. He needs a job, and not just at the cafe down the street but something he feels like he’s been born to do:

Write.

He has stories filling up his brain every day. The city gives him constant inspiration, his fingers itching to type every time he gets back to his apartment.

But his stories shouldn’t be a secret between him and his hard drive.

He wants to share them, like tiny birds ready to spread their wings and soar so that they can explore every part of the world. Put in the ending

The bottle catches dust on top of the fridge. He sees it every day, reaching for a bowl and almost knocking the bottle onto the floor.

There are days he wants to grab it and never look back, hoping to swallow a pill for every rejection and phone call unreturned.

But he promised himself.

And who knows? Maybe tomorrow his phone could ring?

—

It’s month four when he realizes it’s time to go grocery shopping.

He puts his earbuds in his ears and walks, doing his best to avoid any type of human contact as he makes his way to the store.

It’s there that he see’s him.

Stocking shelves is a curly headed male in his mid twenties, taking any job he can get to make ends meet because his gigs at the local bar do not pay the rent.

But Chris doesn’t know that yet.

He knows him as the boy who pointed him to the direction of the mushrooms he needed to make for dinner tonight.

Though he almost missed it because he got caught in the other males gaze.

Chris nicknames him “hazel” and he realizes he finally has something to look forward to in this shitty mess he calls a life.

—

A week later he’s back at the same grocery store, looking for broccoli to go with a new recipe he’s trying out.

"Do you need any help, sir?" He hears behind him.

He recognizes that voice.

He turns around to see Hazel staring back at him.

"Um…"

"You just looked a little lost here, sorry for bothering you - "

"No! No you’re not bothering me!" He says a bit too loud, "Just tired."

"Understandable. A guy like you looks like they have some sort of successful job to keep up

with,” he rubs the back of his head and  _oh my gosh is this what flirting looks like?_  Because this is a bit different from his dreams.

"Yes, my latte making skills really take a toll on me."

Hazel laughs, “Oh I would hope so. Us simple folk sweep aisles and stock canned goods hoping for the day we get our big break making coffee.”

Chris smiles, “glad you know your place.”

"Oh I do. That’s why I’m here to point you in the right direction of the canned goods I actually just put up."

"Actually, sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m looking for broccoli."

"Frozen or fresh? And let me tell you there’s a difference."

"Do tell?"

"Well the guy who puts the fresh ones out is sort of sketch. His name is Barry, great guy but bad hygiene skills. I’m pretty sure he has to know someone because I don’t know how he’s still here."

"That’s pretty gross."

"Indeed it is. Go for frozen. Steam fresh is awesome it tastes just as  good and all you need is a microwave. Basically made for the future."

Chris laughs, “steam fresh it is. And that would be?”

"Aisle five, freezer section. Should be in the middle of the aisle but I’m not too sure."

"Thank you… Um sorry what’s your name?"

"Oh… It’s Darren," he says pointing to his name tag and Chris will admit he hadn’t even seen it thanks to the fact that he was looking… other places.

"It’s nice to meet you Darren."

"You too…?"

"Chris."

“Well then, Chris, I assume you still need to make tonight’s dinner?”

“Yes, I do. Which means I need to get my broccoli, so thanks, again.”

Chris scurries away headed for the aisle he was told, hoping his cheeks don’t look as red as he thinks.

When he gets home he doesn’t even put his groceries away before he opens his laptop to let his hands type away freely.

_The boy with the hazel eyes sweeps up the mess on aisle three, counting down the minutes for his shift to end so he can start on his adventure. His beautiful face shows that he has secrets ready to tumble from his lips, and I want to be the person to hear them first._

—

The next week when he empties his cart at the register, he finds a paper in between his crackers and pasta.

It’s a number.

_Between stacking cans and slapping on unfair price tags he finds his way into my heart, and my shopping cart. He has to have some sort of supernatural powers if his presence takes my breath away but he can sneak past me without so much as my heart pounding. I don’t know if I should be scared or intrigued._

_9 digits seem too small for him. I feel like they have to unlock some secret code to the mysteries of the world. Or maybe they’re a map to a treasure chest unlocking the richest of riches, one of those being his smile._

—

He calls it on the day he’s forced to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches as a meal.

It rings once

twice

three times

And in the middle of the fourth when he prays that he only needs to leave a message, it picks up.

“Hello?”

“Hi….”

“Um who is this?”

“Um… well… you sort of dropped this number in my cart last week, or maybe it wasn’t you, but someone did… anyway um… who is this?” like he wouldn’t recognize that beautiful voice of his.

“Chris?”

“Yes?”

“This is Darren? I showed you where to find a few vegetables?”

“Oh yes yes, um, no wonder this was in my shopping cart.”

“Yeah I tried to be a bit sneaky.”

“Well you succeeded.”

“That I did.” Next thing you know a sound of a plate crashing fills the phone. “Sorry!”

“Are you ok?”

“Um yeah I was just walking through this kitchen.”

“Your kitchen?”

“No. Um, well this is going to sound pretty lame but I play a set at bar down in the village a few times a week for some extra cash.”

“That’s not lame.”

“Yeah tell that to my co-workers who seem to think the only ambition practical to go after is shift supervisor.”

“I’ll mention it next time I’m checking out.”

He hears a soft laughter over the line. “Perfect. Well… this might seem a bit out of the blue but I was wondering, since it doesn’t start for another hour, you want to come by and watch? Unless you have something better to do, then that’s fine. I’m playing at an off time anyway it’s no big - ”

“Yes.”

“Yes as in you’re busy or as in you’ll be there?”

“I mean Netflix is such a tempting way to spend a Thursday but I think I can make time in between episodes of whatever new series they have me drawn into.”

“Perfect! Um, I’ll text you the address and it starts in an hour. I’ll see you there!”

“See you there.”

The call ends and Chris grabs his cat, holding her tight as he dances around his apartment, “Cats have good taste, right? You could totally help me pick out what to wear.”

What Chris doesn’t know is that Darren grabbed a waiter in joy, almost sending table’s two’s mozzarella sticks on the floor.

—

After choosing a final outfit (he swore he heard his cat purr in approval) and almost missing the train, he makes his way to the bar. Inside it’s dark, but welcoming with a counter bustling with friendly looking people, and a few tables filled up as they wait to see who’s playing next on the stage.

Chris makes his way to the closest empty table, which for his sake his pretty far from the stage.

A man steps onto the platform, guitar and piano already set up, and says, “Hey guys, I’m Darren, and I hope these next few tunes make your evening a bit better.”

_Gone is the bland uniform of khakis and an apron that the hazel eyes broke free of. He’s glowing all over as he makes his way into his natural element, his fingers gliding across the keys, playing familiar tunes. And his voice, set to a melody it becomes magic, losing himself in the emotions of the lyrics._

Chris Colfer has found himself a dream of a boy, pinching himself in the middle of the Billy Joel cover to make sure he’s still awake.

Time flies and the set ends, and Chris checks his phone and makes sure that yes an hour has gone bye without him noticing. He realized that as Darren lost himself in the music, he lost himself in Darren.

“So did you like it?” Chris hears a voice behind him and turns around to see Darren staring back at him, smiling. “I could barely see you from all the way back here so if you want to flatter my ego with a few lies it really wouldn’t hurt.”

Chris just laughs and says, “Sit down because they might take a while.”

Darren plops down the the sit in front of him, “Bring it on my head can only get so much bigger.”

“How long have you been playing music?”

“Young. My mom put me in violin classes at an early age and it just started from there.”

Chris almost spits out his drink, “You play the violin?”

“Classically trained, thanks for asking.”

“So why not bring it out tonight?”

“My one at home broke, but I am saving up for a new one. When I do, I’ll be sure you will be the first one to hear me play it.”

_The beautiful boy plays a beautiful instrument. He could play in a thousand orchestras spewing out timeless classics that would bring tears to the eye of any common man, and none will compare to the emotional grip he has on my heartstrings. A grip so deadly that he could set them free or snap them in two with as much as a flick of a wrist if he decides._

And all that could come out of his mouth is: “I would love to.”

A smile is brought on Darren’s face. “Fantastic. Also I was wondering if you wanted to take this to another place? It’s too dark in here and I like to treat my dates with more courtesy of actual seeing their facial features, since it’s one of the reasons that we’re here in the first place.”

A little taken back he stutters, “Date?”

“Oh, um,” Darren looks down at the glass in his hand, watching the ice as it swirls around, “I thought you -”

“I like… date.” Chris cuts him off.

Darren looks up at him and smiles. “Good.” he takes one of his hands and places it on top of Chris’ free on. “Shall we?” he squeezes it as he gets up from the table.

“We shall.” Chris says as he gets up from his chair. Darren holds his elbow out and the boys walk out of the bar, arms looped.

—

They walk around aimlessly just talking. It comes with ease, finding out they have many common interests. Darren smiles at Chris’ extensive history facts and Chris laughs his way through every corny jokes ending up on a park bench to only keep the conversation flowing without hurting their legs.

It starts to get dark so Darren suggests they go back to his place because he says  “I don’t really want this night to end,” with a shy smile.

“Is it far?”

“Not that bad. We can take a train if you want.”

They get up and like magic they’re holding hands and Chris feels like a puddle melting into the floor. “Walking’s fine.”

“Walking it is.” Darren says before they head off to his apartment, rubbing circles into Chris’s knuckles aimlessly.

—

The apartment is only a bit smaller than Chris’ own, but it’s also a bit messier. There’s dishes needing to be washed and sheet music on the floor around his keyboard and guitar, the actual stand empty.

It’s nothing Chris expected.

And yet it’s everything.

“I’m sorry but I usually don’t have company over between jobs and gigs and all.”

The couch is, thank god, clean, so they take a seat there as Darren rummages around his kitchen.  “Aha!” he says once he found something.

He turns around with a bottle of red wine. “I might have used my employee discount when I got this.”

“You guys get discounts?”

“Yes it’s called the infamous five finger discount common at most stores around the world.”

Chris just laughs, “You stole that?!”

Darren walks over to Chris with the bottle and two plastic cups in hand. “Didn’t you hear the word around town. I’m a real,” he fake flips his hair, “Bad boy. A real rebel.”

Chris just keeps laughing as darren hands him the cups, “Drinking stolen wine out of plastic cups in the biggest apartment our dead end jobs could afford. This is the big city life right here. I feel like a cliche.”

“And,” he pops the bottle open. “a cliche we shall be. Do you want to also grab for the same coffee at starbucks or have our dogs leashes intertwine as we take them for a walk.”

“Well I’m more of a cat guy so….” he says as he takes a sip.

“Oh really? Tell me more about yourself Christopher. I want to know all of the basic facts.”

“Well I’m 24. I moved here after graduating community college back at home.”

“Which is?”

“Clovis. Clovis California. Small town but big egos.”

“Very cliche. I love it.”

“Oh it gets better. I have one cat named Lizzie and she’s my best friend. And I work at a coffee shop a few blocks away from my apartment.”

“And what made you come to this city? To pursue your lifelong dream of making non fat soy lattes?”

“I mean it is practical? I know what it takes to wake me up in the morning without a ridiculous price slapped onto it.”

“Extremely. And stocking shelves really helps me put all of my stuff away as you can tell,” he glances around the room.

“Hey!” he playfully slaps his shoulder, “Don’t mock the barista life. I thought we were going for cliches, right?”

“Of course. The guy who makes lattes and the guy who performs in bars. You should write a book about it! It could be a best seller.”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh please. Trust me my manuscripts kick that plots ass. Too bad publishers think quantity over quality when it comes to these things.”

Darren almost spits out his drink. “You write?”

“You caught me.”

“About what?”

“Anything, really. Whatever inspires me.”

“Do I inspire you?” Darren teases placing his chin on his fists.

_He’s cracked the code too quickly. He’s like that bad boy parents warn their innocent girls about, stealing bottles of wine and living a life of constant adventure with no financial or emotional stability in sight. He’s basically offering me a helmet so I can clutch him as we ride on his motorcycle into the sunset._

“Yes, the untold story of a struggling artist.”

“Okay, mister smart ass, let’s make a deal. The day I get my violin I will play you a song and you show me one of your manuscripts.” He raises his plastic cup to Chris.

_There it is. The helmet. He’s holding it out there for me to grab. It’s beautiful all gold and shiny but when I finally have it in my hands I realize it’s flimsy. If we were to crash I wasn’t going to make it._

“Deal.”

_His hair flows in the wind as we ride our way to our unknown destination. The adventure has officially begun._

Their cups smash together and they both drink to a promise.

—

They don’t officially kiss until Chris realizes that he needs to go back to his own place because he was tricked into an early shift to cover for one of the younger girls who went to their boyfriend’s family. Darren leads him to the door, their hands intertwined like before, and bids him farewell before giving him a soft kiss on the lips and one on his knuckles before they separate.

Feeling giddy, Chris practically skips his way to the train, getting home to spill his secrets to his cat.

“He’s a dream, Lizzie. He’s nice and interesting and hot. Just between us I totally sneaked a few peeks at his ass which let me tell you is amazing.”

His cat just purrs at him, amused.

He goes to bed with sweet dreams, sweet promises, and a hope for a second date as soon as possible.

—

It’s month five and they’re doing their best to meet up with each other as much as they can. Darren happens to start grabbing his morning coffee at Chris’ place because, “It’s only fair since you shop where I work,” and Chris buys significantly less groceries every time he needs to make his trips to the store a little bit more frequent.

Chris catches a few more of Darren’s gigs and Darren has taught himself to simultaneously look at him and read the sheet music he needs to get paid.

There’s kissing and hand holding and just general love in the air that Chris almost cries himself to sleep one night because he never wants it to stop.

He’s falling in love and he knows the helmet won’t soften his fall.

—

Darren comes over a few weeks later because Chris’s place is having some sort of contest to create a new drink on the menu that will be not only be sold during the holiday season but would give him a nice bonus and he thinks Darren is the right person to get those creative juices flowing.

Sooner than later Darren’s knocking on his door and they greet each other with a lingering kiss, with a hand wrapped around Chris’ waist to pull him in. “Let’s start now because we might run into a latte problems.”

Chris laughs and says, “Do you want me to kick you out? I mean I was thinking about using the money on a date night but now I’m not sure if i’ll have a boyfriend by the end of the night.”

Darren pouts, “You just called me your boyfriend, though, and that’s pretty official there so you can’t take that one back.” He kisses him on the forehead and makes his way to the kitchen leaving Chris at the doorway to blush.

_It was official. Like 2008 facebook write the date on a status with hearts official. He was mine and I was his and I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it._

—

Month six comes with the announcement that Chris did in fact not win the raise, because apparently you can’t put liquor in a drink for a store that does not have it’s liquor license. He calls Darren with the sad news of their cancelled potential date and he just responds, “I’ll find a way to romance your pants off, budget be damned.”

In a day Chris gets off his shift with a message on his phone from Darren. “Tomorrow night. Eight o’clock. My apartment. Date night attire. I’m going to romance the shit out of you so be there or be square.”

The next night, Chris dresses up in what some would call “business casual” and makes his way to Darren’s place.

Chris knocks on the door and is greeted to Darren in similar attire, sleeves rolled up from cooking. “Hello gorgeous,” he says as he kisses Chris on the cheek. “I’m currently making dinner so If you would like, please take a seat at the lovely dining area as I finish this up.”

Darren makes his way back to the kitchen as Chris looks around for the supposed dining area. And then he sees it.

The living room floor is covered in a nice blanket, with plates and silverware on top of it and scattered cushions all around. It takes a moment to realize the rose petals dusting the floor.

It’s perfect.

“A picnic?”

“A fancy picnic. Plus I don’t have a table besides my coffee table so I thought it would be fun to sit on the floor wearing fancy clothes.”

“I love it.” Chris says as he takes a seat on the floor.

“Good, because it’s not changing.”

Darren takes the food out of the oven, “Please do not kill me if this sucks because I might have googled this about 5 hours ago, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t kiss the cook.”

“What is it?”

“Chicken with a lemon glaze.”

“That sounds pretty sexy.”

“Good because that’s what the website said when I googled recipes to cook for a date.”

He places the tray on the floor in front of Chris before running back to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of wine and two glasses.

“Is this stolen?” Chris asks as Darren hands him a glass.

“Shockingly, no. I have a feeling my boss knew about last time so I wasn’t going to risk it.”

“Even for mwah?”

“No, you get the nice legally bought wine because stolen things aren’t sexy.”

“Way to shed the bad boy persona.”

He opens the bottle of wine. “Do you really want a bad boy? Because bad boys don’t cook or pour wine for their boyfriends. I mean I have a leather jacket if you’re into that shit but it doesn’t really go that well this sweater.”

“Tempting but I’d rather eat this before it gets cold.”

Darren hands him a glass before they sit down to eat. Chris compliments Darren on his cooking because he did pretty damn well for doing this recipe last minute.

“Thank you but it was either this or taking the budget theme to another level with bagel bites.”

“That would have been just as fine, as long as you planned it.”

Darren blushes. “Thank you.”

“Also liqour. Charming men and liquor are my two favorite things in life.”

“Duly noted.”

They talk throughout the meal, a casual conversation updating each other on whatever new is in their lives, and soon a beep from Darren’s phone interrupts them. He checks it briefly and exclaims, “Aww sick!”

“What happened?” Chris asks curiously.

“My friend Drew and his band got selected to open for a sold out show in Brooklyn next week.”

“That’s awesome. Tell him I said congrats.”

“Hey, you should come with me to see him.”

“I don’t know if that’s really my scene…”

“C’mon! It’ll be so much fun. And my friends have been dying to hear about this amazing guy I’ve been dating.”

“Well…”

“Please,” Darren’s resorts to pouting and begins to crawl across the floor over to Chris. “For me, your wonderful, charming boyfriend who even gives you liqour?” He ends up in Chris’ lap, his arms looped around his neck.

Chris sighs. “Fine. But I expected to be introduced as this amazing guy and nothing less.”

Darren just smiles a big toothy grin. “Deal mister amazing.”

“Keeping your word already?”

“I don’t break deals easily, Christopher.”

Darren leans into Chris but their weight topples them over onto the cushions below them. They start kissing for what feels like hours, leaving the chicken cold and the wine glasses to gather dust.

—

Chris is scared.

Because next to meeting the parents, meeting the friends of your significant other is one of the most terrifying things you could do.

These are the people that your significant other chose to spend time and make memories with other than you. They’re basically the non intimate versions of you.

But that doesn’t mean they’re not close.

They give each other advice, and their word holds value.

And if you don’t live up to their standards, then you’re out just like that.

—

The venue is loud and hot and sweaty and crowded and just everything Chris isn’t.

Even pressed up against his boyfriend doesn’t help the fact that he’d rather be home watching a romantic comedy with his cat.

He does his best to be supportive. He cheers when Darren cheers and dances with his boyfriend to try and have some sort of fun.

The set takes longer than he wished, but when it’s over Darren guides him to the back of the open space of the venue and sits down with him to wait for his friends.

“How did you like it?” Darren says to him the best he can over the noise.

Chris just shrugs, “It was a loud?” he says doing his best not to seem too uncomfortable.

“You’ll get used to it, don’t worry.”

Sooner than later a group of guys walk over to them, and Darren gets up to greet them.

“So is this the guy you won’t shut up about?” Chris hears one of them say.

Darren gestures for Chris to come meet them. “Guys this is Chris the  _amazing_  guy I apparently won’t shut my trap about.”

Chris just waves to them, surveying each one. There are about 6 of them, 2 of them with whom, Chris can only assume, are girlfriends.

And they all look the fucking same.

Well not literally, but pretty close.

Torn up jeans, plaid shirts or patterned blouses, beanies, sneakers, some sort of tattoo or piercings.

And the two girls look no different.

And, well, neither does Darren.

But Chris is a nice guy and maybe he just needs to give these guys a chance. For all he knows he could have a new best friend out of this.

The group goes back to the couches to chat. The topics aren’t the most interesting though, usually music related and Chris doesn’t know anything about music past the top 40 station on pandora.

But Darren keeps smiling at him like he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

_I feel like Cinderella nearing the end of her ball. I have a prince who think’s I’m beautiful and would do anything for me, but he’s so innocent. When that clock strikes twelve my beauty fades and everyone gets a good look at who I really am. But he has no idea. He’s a prince, surrounded by royalty and people just like him and it’s no surprise I don’t belong. I’m a commoner in rags with no glass slipper to leave behind. My impressions are temporary, and when the night ends and I have to leave, the prince will see another in a beautiful ball gown who’s coach would never turn into a pumpkin._

These are the people Darren chooses to surround himself with. He doesn’t belong, and he knows it. He deserves someone who can please every part of his life. He deserves someone better.

_My prince deserves not just another prince but a king._

He can’t fake being interested in this forever. No matter what this will be a part of Darren’s life and if he stays he needs to be a part of this too if he wants to make this work.

Darren doesn’t deserve someone faking their way through everything.

He feels sick just thinking about it.

_I feel like I’m stuck in the carriage just as it’s transforming back into a pumpkin. The walls are closing in on me and I can’t do anything to stop it but hope that it doesn’t suffocate me._

_But I’m losing my breath, gasping for air or a hand stretched out to help me._

_But there is none and my throat fails._

“Are you okay?” Darren asks him and Chris realizes he’s been breathing rapidly for a while.

“Yeah…” Chris reassures him. “I think I’m a bit too hot and I’m just going to head home.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Darren grabs his hand in a way to comfort him.

“No,” he fakes the best smile. “You stay. I don’t want to ruin your fun.”

“If you say so?” Darren says, puzzled. Darren gets up to give him a quick kiss before Chris heads out into the open air.

_So I leave the ball a bit too late, my rags and torn up dress shining through of who I really am._

—

Before he falls asleep he gets a text from Darren:

_r u ok?_

**Fine. Felt sick. It was really hot in there.**

_We could have made it hotter ;)_

**Maybe another day**  
  
Chris hears his phone beep again but he doesn’t even bother checking it.

Instead he cries to sleep with the image of maybe turning into never burned into his brain.

—

Chris does his best not to answer Darren’s texts for a day.

His phone goes off a total of ten times.

_I need to cut the chord. If I told him what I thought he wouldn’t believe me. This is Darren, he see’s the good in everyone and would have me wrapped around his finger in a second._

_And we can’t have that._

The next day it goes off 15 times.

Then 20 times.

And by the end of the week Chris swears he heard the beep 30 times, maybe even more.

They’re a combination of calls and texts, but Chris ignores them or just deletes them all together.

For extra precautions Chris gives up all morning shifts at his job, with an excuse to go one more job interviews, and looks for another grocery store to shop at.

—

On every day in the beginning of  month seven he gets 5 texts a day from Darren.

_I need to know_

_It’s killing me._

_I miss you._  
  


_Can you answer?_

 

and the final:  _Please_

 

By the second week Darren has had it, because even the best of us have their limits.

He never receives any more messages after that.

—

It’s month 8 and Chris almost forgot about the bottle of pills on his fridge until they fall one day after he gets a bowl to heat up soup.

He juggles them in his hands and thinks that four months might not be too soon.

His laptop beeps in the background, signifying an email, and Chris puts the pills back to check it, thinking it’s job he’s’ been waiting to hear back from.

But it’s not.

In fact it’s an email from Darren with the subject: “ _I keep my promises._ ”

_It looks like I did leave a glass slipper behind._

He clicks on the video to see Darren performing a song that he introduces as an original called “ _The Muse_ " written for someone he’ll never be able to get off his mind.

He’s playing the violin beautifully, a feeling Chris sees in him that he only catches on himself when he sees his reflection on his laptop as he lets his fingers fly with inspiration.

It finishes and he immediately begins typing.

_This is a story about how a pauper feel in love with a prince with a heart of a king._

He adds it all in, all the bits of inspiration Darren gave him from the sheer thrill of their first meeting to the anger and distraught of their last.

He subjects the email “I also keep my promises,” and adds the document titled “ _The Muse_ " to him.

He clicks send and grabs the bottle of pills again to put them back.

He might just need them soon.

—

It’s midnight when Chris gets woken up by a knock at the door.

Chris trudges through his apartment with Lizzie by his side, until he opens it to find Darren standing across from him.

"I didn’t think you would answer," he says.

“If I knew it was you I wouldn’t have,” Chris responds before slamming the door in his face.

"We need to talk," He hears Darren from the other side of the wood.

"Just leave!" Chris shouts.

"Look I’m not leaving until you hear me out! Just give me that much."

"Someone didn’t read the email…"

"No I read the fucking email and that’s why I’m here, okay?"

Chris just sighs, “Okay. But if any of the neighbors complain I’m not stopping them from kicking you out.”

"Understandable."

"Now say it. Whatever you want to say."

“Okay so I don’t know if this is brand new news to you but if it is, hold tight, but I love you. And, not to toot my own horn but I know you love me back. I read it for my own eyes. I read  _everything_  you put in there for my own eyes. And it was beautiful, really. You have a gift for words I could go for hours on but for the sake of time I’m not going to. Anyway, before I lose track about how amazing you are, I’m sorry you feel that way about yourself. And I know it doesn’t take a flip of a coin to think about yourself differently but if you asked me I don’t give a shit if you were best friends with my friends or not. You’re not some Cinderella because if i’m totally honest she’s the lamest princess of them all who got lucky and bagged some shallow guy who only cared for her beauty and presence. But if you were and suddenly if I saw you running out of the ball and everything went from riches to rags I wouldn’t give a shit. As long as you still wanted to hold my hand and be mine I’d never want anything more than to have you, kingdom be dammed.”

_I think the worst thing about all of this is that I realized he wasn’t Prince Charming. He was just Darren, wonderful and loving Darren who knew just what to say. He wasn’t perfect and neither was I, but, in the end, we would be together quite nicely, if I just gave it a chance._

Though his hands shake regardless because he’s so damn nervous, he takes three deep breaths to steel himself, and Chris opens the door to find the boy he loves staring back at him. And when he thinks about it,  _love_ is exactly the word he’d use to describe how he felt about Darren. And for a moment that scares him shitless, but then he takes a better look at him, notes all the differences from how cleanly cut and put together Darren usually is: bags under his eyes, clothes distraught, and a bit of a beard coming. He’s a bit of a mess but Chris can admit that he probably looks no better.

_Why is love so scary, when we both obviously care so much? When there’s someone who cares as much as you?_

_When you think about it, falling is not the scary part, the landing is._

_It reminds you that unless there’s someone willing to catch you, that shiny helmet you chose to take won’t break your fall._

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he finds himself wiping away at his eyes. “I”m sorry,” he whispers.

Darren wraps his arms around him and holds him tight. “Shhhh,” he whispers in his ear, “it’s going to be okay.”

_So, the motorcycle did crash, and I was falling, waiting for the flimsy helmet to end it all. But then I landed, safe and sound, right in a warm, loving, steady safety net._

—

When Darren’s mouth meets his in a kiss that makes all of him ache with want, Chris stops thinking. The  _what ifs_ and the  _maybes_  leave him until all he can think about, all he can feel are the indents of Darren’s fingers digging into his hips and the slick slide of their mouths, aligned perfectly even as they stumble together.

Darren takes the control for them, guiding them where Chris has pointed out his bedroom and backing him up until his knees hit his bed and he falls backwards. Darren crawls right on top of him, eyes shining so bright Chris wants to _drown_ in them but instead he sinks his hands into Darren’s hair and wraps his legs around him, losing his breath but never wanting to stop kissing Darren.

Oxygen is  _important_ , though, and Chris turns his head as Darren pulls back. There’s heavy breathing, sweat beading on their skin already, hands still gripping tight to whatever they can touch.

There’s a lot they could say.

Darren goes with the cheesiest, and Chris  _loves_ him for that (and everything else too), “You’re gorgeous. So fucking gorgeous. And mine, and I’m yours, and I don’t think theres anything else I could ever need.”

Darren’s fingers are gentle as they caress his jaw and turn his head so their eyes meet, and Chris is both shocked and not shocked by the sincerity there. Darren is really an all or nothing kind of guy.

Darren places lazy, gentle kisses down his neck, worshipping it and whispering the words as he goes, “Not stupid friends. Not a job, not a house, not food. Nothing.”

Chris laughs, raking his fingers through Darren’s hair as he shifts his hips up boldly, their cocks rubbing together through their jeans briefly, “What about breathing?”

"I will  _inhale_ you like fucking kush, babe.”

Chris laughs even louder this time, turning his face into the sheets to muffle it. Darren presses his face to his neck and laughs with him, and there’s a lot less tension after they calm down. Chris nerves slow to a crawl and he takes his hands from Darren’s hair to wrap them around his shoulders, smiling, even when Darren pulls away and looks at him seriously, kind, lovely eyes gleaming.

"It was torture being away from you and not knowing why. I don’t want to go through that again," and then, Chris sees all of Darren’s walls crumble down to reveal honest vulnerability in the form of a shaky, low voice just before he seals their mouths together desperately, "Please."

If Darren is going to catch him, Chris will damn well do the same for him.

—

There’s no  _guidebook_  on how to do this. There’s no rule that says who tops, who bottoms, who does what, or who gets the things they need. Their shirts go with the minimal fumbling that comes from excitement more than anything, and then Darren is making his way down his chest, soft kisses pressed every inch of skin he passes over. It’s arousing and sensual in a way Chris has never felt before, and he relaxes, even if his stomach still flutters with nerves when Darren kisses the indent of his hipbone.

Hot breath is blown over his skin as Darren seems to gather his bearings, hands hooking under his thighs and holding steady. It’s hesitation, too much hesitation. Chris’ breath stills in his throat, and he gently wraps his hand in Darrens curls and tugs. Darren looks at him with worried eyes, and Chris tries to smile without a hint of expectation.

"Are you okay?"

Darren presses his mouth to his hip again, letting out a tiny whimper that resonates with Chris. “ _Yes,_  I’m fine, I want this, I’m fine.”

"But?" Chris doesn’t know when he assumed the position of giver but he’s fine with it. He wants to be for Darren all he is to him. He wants to give back every little bit he’s given, and if that means ignoring his erection and tugging Darren up to him instead of whatever Darren had been planning, that’s okay. Darren’s lips are just as sweet, just as satisfying.

"I don’t — " Darren starts and trails off, and Chris molds their mouths together again, fingers pressing beneath Darren’s jaw.

"Okay, it’s okay. I don’t need anything from you but what you want to give me. And I won’t give but what you want."

"What do you want?"

Darrens fingers trail down his chest again, this time working his jeans open and cupping him, pressing up so Chris arches and gasps with the pressure. The  _please_  is so close to falling from Chris’ mouth, but Darren takes away the plead and everything else with his kiss.

"I want you. Inside me, with me, I want you."

There’s nothing more to say after that.

—

Chris’ nerves resurface when he has one lubed finger lined up with Darren’s entrance, stroking over but not pushing, not entering.

"I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore than you do," Chris laughs, the other four of his fingers drawing patterns over the soft skin of Darren’s ass.

"I figure you just…go slow," Darren stops stroking his cock, giving Chris a reassuring smile, his thigh flexing where it’s perched over Chris’ shoulder.

The position is intimate and aweinspiring. Chris doesn’t know why, but there’s something about being held between Darren’s legs, Darren so warm and content and easy beneath him, the power to open Darren up and see him at his gentlest, his most vulnerable at his fingertips… something about it makes him feeling like soaring. And taking Darren with him.

Chris wraps up his courage like a neat little present and confidently inserts his finger slowly, knuckle by knuckle, listening to every sound, every reaction Darren gives him. It’s smooth and tight and he pulls out, strokes back in and delights in the way Darren’s body tenses and relaxes. Chris looks up to see nothing but slack jawed bliss across his lovers (his  _lover_ : that’s new, that’s exciting) face, the tension between his forehead wavering out.

The second finger is not something he contemplates, just pulling out and working it in beside the other, gripping Darren’s hip tightly. Darren’s hips start to rock and it’s then that Chris presses and drags down, catching what he assumes is Darren’s prostate because of the way Darren starts  _begging._

"Oh god, fuck, yes, yes," it’s fascinating, and Chris does the same motion again, noting the way Darren’s breath hitches before his hips starting fucking themselves on his fingers eagerly, still begging.

"Again, again, oh god  _Chris_ , please,” the third one goes easy (so easy) with a bit more lube and even less hesitance on Chris’ part. The weight of Darren’s legs is just as comforting as before, and Chris gains speed with the way he’s moving his fingers, trying his best to hit Darren’s prostate every chance he gets.

Darrens hand leaves his cock and instead grips at Chris’ hair, rolling his hips and spreading himself as his voice breaks off with every cry.

Finally it’s “ _more_ more _more_ , Chris baby,  _please_  fuck me, please,” and it’s Chris pulling out his fingers and fumbling with the condom before it slips on and he grips himself, Darren’s ass welcoming him, Darren’s legs tight around his back as he arches into him and aligns their chests.

Darren is so gorgeous stripped down from his soul to his clothes, laid out, panting, working himself back into him as Chris takes his time pushing in.

It alights something in Chris. Darren is it. There’s never going to be anyone else. And for as long as they’re together, Chris wonders how many ways he could take Darren, how many ways he would want it?

And like this, with their hips pressed close and joined as intimately as any two people could ever get, hands wrapped around each other, legs wrapped around each other, wrapped together, is surely the most perfect of them all.

Darren has his head tipped back with his eyes shut, mouth parted, lines of skin exposed and Chris leans down to take advantage of it, kissing and sucking over Darren’s neck as he pulls back his hips. Slowly, he slides back in and Darren coils up beneath him, broken whispers sounding against Chris’ ear.

Out, back in with more force and Darren lets out a sinful moan, tightening their hands together and just barely getting out, “ _Please,_ baby.”

And Chris has no strength to respond, all of it draining into his hips so he can give Darren what he wants, what he’s _begging_  for. He pulls back, slams back in and then he’s gone, lost to fucking Darren, lost to doing it right and fucking him hard, lost to the needy whimpers and moans Darren gives him.

Lost. Not needing to be found because he tips his head back, his own mouth parted in tangible bliss, and feels perfect.

Darren’s voice cracks on his words, “God, this is all — so fucking —  _perfect._ ”

Darren’s skin is burning where Chris slides his hand up his chest and cups his jaw, their mouths together again as Chris keeps his steady rhythm.

Darren comes with their lips melded together, and so does Chris.

—

They lay together, Darren with his head on Chris’ chest and Chris with his fingers tugging at Darren’s scalp, the love he has for this pliant man pulling tight like a string in his chest.

“I love you.” Darren whispers, stroking his hand up and down Chris’ stomach as Chris continues to pet his scalp.

Chris chuckles, “I know.”  _I love you too._

—

Month twelve comes around quicker than expected.

After much talking, and a bit of math (and a pinch of hormones) they decide that moving together would be a much a better way of life for both of them.

They spend almost every minute together as is, and paying half of their bills could drastically improves their lives.

“It’s the best sleepover that never ends,” Darren calls it. “And I promise to clean my shit up.”

“And what if you don’t?”

“You can spank me red.”

They pick Chris’ place, the location nice, the rent fair, and the space a bit bigger than Darren’s. Plus Darren’s furniture goes for enough on craigslist that they are ahead about a month on rent.

Without the furniture, Darren doesn’t have a lot to move, and with the help of one of his buddies it only takes about two trips up the stairs in Chris’ building.

He quietly leaves the unloading to the two of them to have some “alone time.”

It’s not too exciting though, as Chris lays down the law of getting this all put away before they “Christen” the apartment as Darren puts it. And Darren, wanting to start this on the right foot, happily obliges.

After rearranging the living room furniture to fit a few instruments, they decide to split up the work: Chris to the bedroom to sort out the closet space and Darren to the kitchen to put away his silverware and whatever pots and pans and salvageable food he had to put away.

It takes a while for Darren to notice it, knocking it down right onto his face as he goes to see what space Chris has left in his cabinets.

“Fuck!”

“You alright?” Chris says as he comes over to Darren, concerned.

“Yeah, something fell off your, I mean  _our_ , fridge and hit me in the face.”

“Oh poor baby let me see the boo boo.” Chris teases him as he grabs Darren’s face and kisses him on the nose, smiling the entire time and chuckling when Darren tries to tilt his face up for more. “All better.”

Darren grins back and wraps his fingers in the back Chris’ shirt, dragging them down so they rest at his waist, “The best medicine out there.”

Chris means back a little to ask, “What hit you?”

Darren looks down to the floor and then steps back to grab the object by his foot. He picks it up and shows it to Chris.

It’s the bottle of pills.

The color drains from Chris’ face almost immediately.

“These things apparently.” Darren examines the bottle closer, “Holy shit.”

“What?”

“These have been expired for over a year.”

“So?” Chris looks behind Darren’s head, avoiding eye contact.

Darren grabs Chris’ hands, “ _So,_  if you took one of these things you could get seriously hurt,” he lovingly places a kiss on Chris’ knuckles, “Or worse. And I am definitely not letting anything like that happen on my watch.” Darren squeezes his hands tighter and gives him a big smile.

_Thinking about Darren keeps me up at night._

_And not just the occasional… dirtier thoughts._

_But what is he doing here? How did he get into my life? What would I be doing without him?_

_What if I shopped somewhere else?_

_What if he never gave me his number?_

_What if I never agreed to see him perform?_

_What if I deleted his email?_

_What if I never opened that door for a second time?_

Darren takes the bottle of pills and throws them in the garbage. “There. Problem solved.”

_I’d like to take the opportunity to retract all of my previous metaphors or similes I ever made about this boy. He’s not the guy parents warn their kids about. He’s not a prince, or even a king for that matter, and I’m definitely not a Cinderella story._

_I’d like to think he’s an angel in human form: someone with a passion of a thousand suns who is humble enough to make a few mistakes along the way._

_I might still be working at a coffee shop and he still might be stacking cans._

_But life is now worth living._

By the time they’re finished they find their way into the bedroom for a nice reward.

A nap.

They lay there under the blankets, Darren wrapping his arms around Chris and nuzzling his neck.

“First time in  _our_  bed together. I feel like this should go in a scrapbook.”

Chris laughs, “There’s no place I’d rather be right now.”

“In my arms?”

“No, in my bed sleeping. Those boxes were heavy.”

“Oh shut up, you love being my little spoon.”

“That I do.”

_He gave me a reason to live again._

_He helped me find my place in this world that I was longing for twelve months ago._

_And it just so happens that my place is right beside him._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry this took me forever to put on this website but shout out to myself for finally joining! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! Title comes from Bastille's "Pompeii"


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